


Alternative Names for Bear Claws: an introduction

by weatheredlaw



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Established Relationship, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, domesticity runs amok
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-19
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weatheredlaw/pseuds/weatheredlaw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce leafs through his wallet. "Does Captain America drink for free?" — Steve and Bruce talk about God, history, Twitter and threesomes, among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alternative Names for Bear Claws: an introduction

**Author's Note:**

> There's nothing I love more than domestic, established threesomes. First part of a series that explores two sets of relationships within the tower and accidentally leaves Thor in the dust. I'll get to you, pumpkin, I promise.

Sometimes, Bruce and Steve need to get away.

 

 

Steve is aware that, to a man like Bruce, he's a living, breathing science experiment. 

He'd had reservations, after that first battle, watching the flow of Banner to Hulk, Hulk to Banner — he'd wondered what kind of person could ever be hiding under all that rage. Bruce's mind is painfully out of Steve's reach, and it's impossible to pick his brain without receiving a mouthful of jargon that always leaves Tony laughing and Steve confused as hell. He wants to know the mechanics of the Hulk, because Steve thinks like a soldier, like a strategist. He thinks like a man who is lining up his ducks in a row and there just happens to be a really big, really angry green one at the end that he can't quite get a handle on. 

"You wanna get beers?" Bruce asks one evening. They're cleaning up the kitchen, standing shoulder to shoulder. Steve realizes how small Bruce is, compared to himself, compared to the Hulk. How small he _makes_ himself. 

"Like, now?"

"Sure." Bruce puts the plates in the cabinet above them and wipes his hands on a dishtowel. "You gotta be in bed or something?" He smiles crookedly, and Steve recognizes a challenge when he sees it. 

"If your plan is to get me drunk I can guarantee you it won't work." Bruce shakes his head.

"No-no. Your metabolism is through the roof. Your body burns through alcohol like a wildfire. It'd be a waste of good beer." He leafs through his wallet. "Does Captain America drink for free?"

 

 

Bruce shoots Tony a text in case he puts the tower on red alert when he finds out the two of them are gone — "I hate it when he does that," Bruce mutters, jamming the lobby button. "I _really_ do." — and Steve decides to leave a note, just because.

"No one'll find it. _Paper_ , Steve. It's an outdated commodity."

"Maybe to you."

"I've written on banana leaves. Everything is a commodity to me." Bruce tugs his jacket around him a little tighter as they hit the pavement. "Jesus, I forgot how cold this place gets in the fall."

"You were in New York before, then?" Bruce laughs. "Right. Yeah."

"I mean, I was, like, _in_ New York. I wasn't exactly sight-seeing, but whatever." He shakes his head. "I came here in college a few times. I had a cousin around here, he was a good guy. We hung out, hit the bars, that sort of thing. It was a good escape. What about you? Got any family out there, comin' out of the wood works, now that you're defrosted?" Steve laughs. 

"If I do, SHIELD's probably got a pretty tight lid on it. I don't think I'm really _allowed_ to have friends outside of the team. Liabilities and all that." 

"Really puts a dent in your social life."

"Hah, _Right_. This is the first time I've left the tower for any reason other than _jogging._ "

"Jogging is disgusting."

"It's _good for you_ ," Steve insists.

"Nope. I'm morally obligated to tell you, as a doctor, that jogging is useless."

"What's your PhD in again?" 

"Something you can't pronounce."

 

 

It turns out, Captain America and co. _do_ drink for free, though everyone is pretty much straight judging Bruce as he and Steve settle into a booth. Steve signs a few autographs and a really snarky guy in a Fedora asks Bruce who _he_ is. Bruce stares until he finally slinks off. 

"You ever tell folks you're the Hulk?"

"I usually don't need to." Bruce takes a swig of his beer. "By the time people figure it out, I've probably leveled a house or two. You ever googled yourself?" Steve nods. Clint had showed him, basically, how the internet worked. Steve found he didn't _like_ how the internet worked, but Clint had been exceptionally eager to teach him how to play Farmville. Steve couldn't get into it.

"I have a fan club." Bruce chokes on his beer, shaking with silent laughter. "Americans will apparently take a picture during _any_ kind of crisis."

"Mmhm, Tony showed me and Pepper. The 'Captain Assmerica' page. We need to get you a twitter account."

"How do _you_ know about all this crap?"

"I've lived under an _actual_ rock only once in my life. I'm pretty fly for a green guy." Steve smiles, finally relaxing into the mood of the night. Bruce knocks back a few more beers, his face flushed and smiling. Steve isn't sure if he's ever seen him like this. It's a good look on him, smoothing out the worry lines on his face and making him look years younger than when they first met on the heli-pad. "If we got you a twitter account you could just take topless pics of yourself to get followers. Then you could join like a charity or something. Every time people donate a thousand bucks, you take a shot of your ass." Yeah, Steve realizes. Bruce is on his way to getting sort of smashed, pun intended only accidentally.

"Those are all really terrible ideas."

"I disagree," Bruce says, finishing off his beer. He doesn't order another one, but it'll take him a while to come down. Bruce is all lean muscle and brain. Not a lightweight, but he couldn't keep up with Tony's alcoholism even if he wanted to. 

And Steve doesn't exactly want to take advantage of him, but Bruce is so much easier to talk to like this, so much more on Steve's level. He wants to know about the way Brooklyn used to be, the way _America_ used to be. Steve's answered all these questions before from a hundred other people. But Bruce asks like he's formulating a hypothesis. He asks questions differently, like what Steve says is going to be written down and remembered, forever. 

"Hey," he says quietly, after Bruce has picked and picked and picked. "Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"You and Tony...and Pepper, I guess." Bruce's face flushes. "You know what? Never mind. It's not important—"

"Steve. It's fine." He clears his throat. "We, uh...we _fondue_ , if that's what you were wanting to ask."

"Glad to know my euphemisms aren't lost on everyone." Bruce chuckles. "I mean, that's not what I was wondering. I don't..."

"It's cool. I get it." Bruce orders a water. "You know, if you wanted to bond over mutual threesomes, all you had to do was ask." 

It's Steve's turn to flush. "That wasn't—"

"Come on, Clint can't keep his mouth shut worth a damn."

"Figures he'd be the one."

"This?" Bruce spreads his arms over the table. "This is a judge-free zone, Cap."

"I feel like that's the way it is with you in general." Bruce shrugs.

"Well, you learn to care less. About a lot of things." Here, Steve doesn't pry. 

So they Go There, of all places. 

 

 

Steve isn't sure how he fell in with Clint and Natasha in the first place. It might have been because he saw Clint naked, which was definitely 100% on accident, he'll swear up and down on his mothers grave and over a flag that it was. Or it might have been that he saw _Natasha_ naked, which he's fairly certain _wasn't_ an accident, but he didn't really want to argue.

The point was at one point or another, everyone was looking at everyone naked. And Steve only had to settle things with God for a second before he dove in headfirst. Sometimes figuratively. Sometimes literally.

Steve explains this all carefully and decides that leaving things out only complicates it, makes it seem like this thing he has with Clint and Natasha is something he doesn't want, when it's really exactly what he was waiting for. 

"I feel like...like I don't have to give everything to one person."

"Like you can share," Bruce murmurs, nodding. "It feels good." 

"I woke up, you know, thinking I was in hell or something. And it didn't change for a long time. I found this church down the street from my apartment and I tried to go there. My old church, you know, they turned it into a, uh...a Game Stop. Whatever the hell that is." Steve shakes his head. "Figured it might be easy to find God around here. Turns out it's a lot harder."

"You shouldn't have to _find_ God," Bruce says, shaking his head. "You either believe in God, or you don't. It's simple."

"My mother used to say that."

"Smart woman."

"Yeah...I just...I feel like I've got this new religion. Like I made something for me. There's God and there's the team. And then there's...them. And we just sort of fall in together and it works. And I don't feel like I've done anything wrong by anyone. Like I don't _owe_ anyone a damn thing."

"Steve." Bruce puts down his glass and looks at him, eyes clear and bright and _full_. "You have _never_ owed _anyone_ a single fucking thing."

 

 

Bruce only looks like he isn't wasted. Steve holds him up on the walk back to the tower and lets him lean against the wall of the elevator. 

"I'm really happy for you, you know that?" Steve looks up.

"Huh?"

"I'm _happy for you_ , Steve. This is really hard for you." Steve knows what he's talking about. "And I'm happy that _you're_ happy." 

It seems weird, coming from Bruce. From a guy who never really seems to be happy at all. Who has every right and reason in the world to be miserable forever. And here he is, drunk and smiling and happy for _Steve_ , of all people. 

"I'm happy for you, too, big guy."

 

 

Tony hasn't put the tower on red alert, but he's waiting for them in the living room of his apartment, scowling at Pepper who has been, apparently, assuring Tony for an hour now that Bruce's text isn't fake and neither he nor Steve have been kidnapped.

"Why'd you leave a _note_?" Tony asks. Pepper rolls her eyes. "Did you get my lab partner drunk?" Bruce is standing on his own now, but he is definitely way up in Tony's space. 

"He took care of that himself."

Bruce leans forward and kisses Tony full on the mouth. "Free drinks, courtesy of everyone's favorite patriot."

"Well that's just _swell_." But Tony's smiling all the same, running a hand through Bruce's hair. "You look happy."

"Do I?"

"Thanks for bringing him up here, Steve." Pepper places a hand on his arm, then rounds on Tony and Bruce. "Bed, both of you."

"It's not even two AM yet," Tony mutters, but he lets Pepper tug them both down the hall. " _Fine._ Sweet dreams, Cap. Thanks for babysitting."

"Asshole," Bruce mutters, rounding the corner after them. "Night, Steve."

"Night."

 

 

Steve takes the elevator to Natasha's apartment. These days, it's sort of hers and Clint's and rapidly belonging to Steve, too. They're in the kitchen, cooking of all things, arguing about _Lost_ because Natasha wasn't paying attention to television the six years it was on. 

"I'm only saying that the finale is a cop-out," she mutters, tossing tomatoes onto a salad. 

"Whatever. You've never appreciated a good afterlife metaphor," Clint says, dumping an inordinate amount of pasta into a bowl. "Hey, you're back." He looks up at Steve and grins. "Nighttime jog?"

"Drinks, actually. With Bruce." Natasha narrows her eyes. "It was fun."

"Ha. Did he get _smashed_?" Clint asks. Natasha flicks a crouton at the back of his head. " _What?_ It's _funny_."

"You're never funny," she says. Steve leans into her and she kisses his neck. "Did he?" she whispers into his ear. Clint looks scandalized.

"He's nothing but bones."

"Mmm, gotta fatten him up," she says. Steve steals a tomato slice from the bowl. "Wow, Rogers. Manners."

They sit around the table and enjoy their obscenely timed dinner. Steve talks about his night out, about Bruce and Tony and Pepper. About Bruce being happy and about being happy for himself. 

"Wait. Did you ask _Bruce_ for advice about, like, unorthodox relationships or whatever?" Clint laughs. "That's rich."

"He's a good listener."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, babe," Clint mutters, shaking his head. Steve kicks him under the table. " _Holy mother of God_ —"

"I sleep fine, thank you."

"Sandwiched between two assassins? You should," Natasha says, scraping her plate clean. "If you don't, I'm sure we could help." Steve smiles, getting up and kissing her on the top of her head. 

"I'm getting a shower and going to bed." 

"Meet you there," Clint yells after him around a forkful of pasta.

Steve leaves behind the warm kitchen and their banter, which will probably escalate into an actual fist fight over who has to do the dishes. He undresses and steps in the shower, thinking about what Bruce said about sharing. About happiness. About that feeling of indebtedness that trickles away every day, every time Natasha curls her fingers through his hair, every time Clint drags his hands across Steve's back. Every time he stands, back to back with his team, every time he and Tony can share a smile or a memory or a moment, when he and Bruce can have beers and speak the same language and understand one another. 

Every time he wakes up and it's sort of a miracle that he's here at all — he feels like he owes the world a little less and himself a whole lot more.

 

 

In the morning Steve heads over to Bruce's lab with coffee and bear claws he picked up while he jogged home.

"See? It's not always bad."

"Again. _Why_ , Steve? Why?" But Bruce takes the coffee and eats half a pastry before wiping his mouth on his sleeve and thanking him. "I had half a bottle of Advil for breakfast."

"Sugar pills," Steve says dismissively. "Clint keeps vicodin stashed in every corner."

"Lucky you." They share a quiet smile. "Thank you, for going out with me. I promise I'll buy next time."

"Sounds fair." Steve looks over at his work. "What's up?"

"Something for Pepper that Tony's working on." He lets the hologram drop. "I'm spying. I shouldn't be." Steve zips his lips. "Fury sent a packet out this morning. You get it?"

"I stopped answering emails two months ago. My snail mail takes a little longer to get here." Bruce nods, bringing up some other work he's been doing. "Thor agreed to give you a blood sample?"

"Yeah, but I had to hit him in the nose with something to get it. Impervious to needles."

"I know the feeling."

"Any time, you know. I'm here." 

Tony passes through the sliding door. "Wait, did we move the club meeting?" Steve tosses him the bag of bear claws. "Excellent work, Cap. You get Fury's packet?"

"He's waiting for the post to come," Bruce says, tossing some data from one screen to another. 

"Mail box is around back, buddy."

"I hate you both," Steve mutters. He saves the rest of the pastries for Clint. "Bruce is spying on your secret stuff for Pepper." 

Bruce punches him. "Dick."

Tony shrugs. "Whatever. Wanna see?" They spend the morning doing nothing but eating the rest of the bear claws and trying to think of better names for bear claws. Steve frowns when he realizes the bag is empty and he'll have to make Clint breakfast. Or lunch. Whichever is sooner. He leaves when Tony and Bruce start to become sort of engrossed in one another, their jargon going atmospherically over Steve's head, the two of them standing hip to hip. He looks back once when he leaves and catches Bruce hooking his thumbs into the belt loops of Tony's jeans while they make out like kids against the table. 

He heads downstairs and runs into Clint and Natasha coming in from their run.

"Please tell me there's food in there," Clint groans, stretching.

"Tony ate the rest."

"Fucking-a—" 

"I'll make you eggs." Clint grabs a fistful of Steve's shirt and kisses him.

"You're my hero, Captain America." 

 

 

Steve comes back from the gym later on to find his papers from Fury on the kitchen counter and a text from Pepper, which is sort of a treat. Her messages are always like her -- neat and tidy, and spelled correctly to boot, which is a relief from the lower cased nightmares he gets from Clint and the texts written completely in a code he has yet to decipher from Natasha. He won't even read texts from Tony anymore. 

_Bruce is making dinner if you three are interested in joining us._

Clint is _such_ a loudmouth.

 _Sounds like a good deal. I'll let them know. They're playing in the air ducts._ Then, _Don't tell Tony._

 

 

When it's very late and Tony and Pepper are very tipsy and it's Bruce's turn to baby-sit, they go back to Natasha's apartment and lay on the floor of the living room.

"I am so full," Clint mutters. "Oh my God why'd you let me eat so much?"

"I was too busy stuffing my face." Natasha rolls over, groaning. "I think the rice pudding did me in."

"I could go for more lamb about now," Steve says and is promptly pummeled in the face with the nearest pillow. Natasha snatches it out of Clint's hands and they're quiet for a long time. 

"You guys read Fury's packet?" Clint asks, his voice tiny in the expanse of the room. They don't say anything. 

"Let's not talk about it," Natasha murmurs, reaching up and taking both of their hands. "Let's go to bed instead." Clint sighs and rolls over on his stomach, his cheek against Steve's hair. He presses his lips to Natasha's forehead and gets up on his knees. 

Steve lets them go ahead. They'll shower together, which is sort of their sacred space, and Steve could use a little solitude. He goes out onto the balcony and watches traffic for a while. His brain is wired to be constantly focused -- this is as close to relaxed as he can really get.

"Steve." He looks up. Bruce is two balconies above. "If you don't catch this, then I will actually _literally_ cry. And you don't want to make me do that." 

"Uh, okay?" Bruce tosses a set of books, neatly wrapped in twine. Steve pretends to fumble them, laughing when Bruce's face turns white. 

"Not funny."

"What's this?"

"Just some books. I'm starting the first official Avengers book club." 

"Right."

"Let me know what you think."

Steve turns them over in his hands. "Yeah. Okay."

"Night, Steve."

"Night, Bruce."

 

 

Late into the night, after Clint and Natasha are exhausted, spent, and asleep, Steve undoes the string binding the stack of books together. The first is a copy of _The Tempest_ , dog-eared and weathered from travel. Then it's a new copy of _The Great Gatsby_ , the price sticker scribble over. At the bottom of the stack is a copy of _East of Eden_ , easily the most worn of the three books. There's a note stuck in it, written in Bruce's frantic scrawl — _read this first._

He hasn't read a book in a long, _long_ time. Since he woke up, it's been nothing but go, go, go — no time to catch up on too much of anything other than the constant stream of information pouring out of SHIELD. Maybe Bruce understands this, maybe he doesn't. Steve decides it doesn't really matter. He sets the other books on the coffee table, kicks off his shoes, and starts to read.

 

 

 _I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer and what trees and seasons smelled like, how people looked and walked and smelled even._ — from _East of Eden_ , chapter 1


End file.
